Something About the Coffee
by Eirian
Summary: Story 2: "Change Your Life". "When Blaine was five, he'd met Andy." There is no good way to summarize this, sorry. Pre-Kurt/Blaine, and also future-Kurt/Blaine. Spoilers for "Silly Love Songs". *Note the Rating for Bullying and Homophobic Slurs*
1. Completely Honest with Himself

_**A/N:** This is what happens when I'm bored at work & trying to keep my mind occupied so it doesn't dribble out of my ears. This is pretty much crack. I tried to make it make sense. (And apparently, I did my job correctly & you may have to re-read it to fully understand what's going on.)_

_Set after "Duets"_

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><p>It's been a long week. Hell, it's been a long <em>year<em>, if he's being completely honest with himself, and Kurt does try to be completely honest with himself, at least. Because who else is he able to be completely honest with? So, it's been a long year, but this past week has been especially brutal to him.

Taking care of his dad, making sure his dad takes care of _himself_, is a full-time job in itself, and it's stressful and mildly terrifying to see his dad still so weak. Kurt's not sure which is worse, that his dad is starting to act like he's recovered and trying to be more physical and get back into something resembling his normal routine, or before that, when his dad was so obviously weak and tired he didn't even try to put on a front, not even in front of Kurt. He always tried to shield Kurt from the really scary stuff, and Kurt knows his dad realized how scary this was for him.

Then, there was glee club, and their duets competition. Again, if he is being completely honest, he hadn't really expected to win. You can't win a duet when it's just yourself on stage performing. But he'd given it his all anyway, because what else could he do? It wasn't so much the solo duet that bothered him-because if anyone could rock _Le Jazz Hot_, it was him-it was the fact that Finn had seemed to have such a problem with him partnering with Sam. And while Finn had couched his argument in terms of keeping Sam in the group, Kurt couldn't help but think a part of it was still that Finn wasn't comfortable with his sexuality.

_You don't understand that no means no._ Of course he understands that! It wasn't like he'd been trying to kiss Finn or grope him or anything, ever! He just has a forceful personality, sometimes. Maybe he'd flirted with Finn a little bit, but never with the idea that it would actually go anywhere. He'd hoped, of course, and there had been a few fantasies about it... but in the end, Finn was hopelessly straight, and out of Kurt's reach. But, he'd continued pursuing Finn, partly because by that point, even realizing that it would never happen, he hadn't really known what else to do, how to stop.

And Finn had never _said_ no! He'd never told Kurt, "Stop, I'll never like you like that." He might have hinted - complete honesty, again, he might have hinted _strongly _- but he'd never come out and said it. Because if he _had_ -

Kurt's shoulders slump as he thinks about it. He probably would have tried to prove Finn wrong. Changed tactics, but continued the chase.

Regardless! Finn had no right to tell him to back off from performing with Sam, a perfectly legitimate action and completely harmless, especially when Sam himself seemed to have no problem with it. Even if Sam was straight (and dyed his hair, because there's no way that color came from nature), he didn't seem bothered by Kurt's rather flamboyant and boisterous nature, and he might have become another good friend of Kurt's. It isn't like he has people lining around the building clamoring to associate with him. If he isn't just ignored, quite often he's treated like a communicable disease. He can count the number of people whom he can genuinely call friends on one hand, and they are all girls. While Rachel's words had helped - _that's 12 people who love you for being just exactly the way you are_ - it only eased the ache of loneliness a little, and not for long.

Now, he finds himself sitting in the _Lima Bean_, alone at a small table, nursing a latte and, if he's being completely honest with himself, wallowing in sadness.

"Do you mind?"

Kurt glances up even as the unknown speaker pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down, trim legs encased in charcoal gray designer slacks crossing at the knee while he sets his own drink cup down on the table. He reaches up with his thumb and brushes a stray piece of hair off his forehead, and Kurt can't help but stare in shock and confusion. Pale blue eyes steadily gaze back as the man smiles.

"I've seen you here before," the man says casually, before taking a sip of his drink. "This is obviously the first time I've decided to approach you, and that's just because-" he shrugs and gives a small smile. "Well, my companion's still ordering his drink, and I think he wanted to have a private chat with someone, as well, so I thought now would be a good opportunity." He glances down at his cup, and Kurt gets the feeling he's doing it more to give Kurt privacy than any sort of shyness on his part. "Besides... you looked lonely."

Kurt bristles a little. It doesn't matter who this man is, or how much he resembles the person Kurt sees every morning, he's not going to admit his inner feelings to a stranger. _(Even if he's no stranger at all.)_ "I assure you, I'm not," Kurt says haughtily. "It's perfectly acceptable to enjoy a cup of coffee by oneself."

The other raises an amused eyebrow and smirks at him slightly. "Very true," he finally concedes. But then he leans forward and gives Kurt an intense look that pierces straight through him. "But I know you're lonely. Believe me, I re- I know what it's like." He shrugs and backs off a little, glancing to the side and reigning himself in, giving Kurt a chance to regroup after that soul-reaching gaze, for which Kurt is thankful.

"It's not bad to want things, you know. Or to pursue them, even." The man's voice is back to casual, and he's looking almost everywhere but Kurt, from his coffee cup, to surveying the other patrons of the _Lima Bean_, then glancing out the large front windows. But that's his only hint of restlessness, and the rest of his body is relaxed, so Kurt thinks he is doing it more to help keep _him_ relaxed than anything else. Considering the subject matter, Kurt's not sure that's possible, but he appreciates the other's effort. "You just have to remember to temper your want-a little, at least. People get scared if you're too forceful." Then the man rolls his eyes. "Of course, you could be as subtle as a brick to the head and _some_ people still wouldn't notice." There's a smile tugging at the edges of his lips as he says this, though, and Kurt thinks it's some sort of inside joke and that the man isn't quite serious.

Kurt has to take a swallow of his rapidly cooling latte to wet his throat before speaking. Even then, his voice comes out soft and hoarse. "Why... why are you telling me this?"

The older man looks at him briefly before glancing away and shifting slightly, and this time Kurt thinks it is because he is uncomfortable. "It's not that I think you should change," he murmurs, "because that's the last thing you should do. But... you know your attitude can push people away. You've thought it before," he adds strongly when Kurt is about to protest. "Sometimes you even do it on purpose. You need to let others get close to you, or you'll always be alone."

It's Kurt's turn to look away uncomfortably, but he makes it look like he's angry, folding his arms defensively across his chest. His voice doesn't sound angry though - it sounds scared. "People hurt you when you let them get close."

The other man sighs, and Kurt almost winces at the awful sadness he hears in it. "I'm not going to tell you that you won't get hurt. Because you will. But..." When he trails off, Kurt glances over to see him chewing on his lower lip and looking into the crowd of the coffee shop, but more intently than he'd done earlier, like he's searching for something. Suddenly he leans forward and speaks in a hushed voice, his words coming more urgently than before.

"There's going to be a boy. You're gonna fall head-over-heels for him, and the best part is, he's gonna feel the same. You're going to become best friends... and he's going to break your heart." The man doesn't seem very upset about what he's saying. "It's going to hurt, a lot - there'll be tears, and your friends trying to cheer you up with pizza and ice cream and musicals." He smiles then, something soft and sweet, and the look on his face reminds Kurt with a jolt that he knows this man, because he recognizes the look. "But it will be so worth it, Kurt. Trust me."

He leans back then, and takes a drink of his coffee, which reminds Kurt to drink his own, which is now all but too cold. "It's going to be a while yet," he warns casually, and Kurt knows it's a warning, despite the other's relaxed tone and posture. "But it'll happen. Everything will work out." He adopts a self-pleased, smug expression that Kurt is _quite_ familiar with. "Just don't give up."

Kurt is so focused on the other that he doesn't realize anyone is approaching until they stop at the man's shoulder. "Hey, Kurt."

Kurt looks up, startled that this stranger knows his name. But then the new man touches the first's shoulder with his fingertips, and something in the gesture, as well as the casual glance the two share, seems so terribly intimate.

"You ready to go?" The first man nods, and as he gathers his cup and stands up, Kurt stares at the new man, wondering if their relationship is really what he thinks. He's solidly built, sort of like Finn's athletic body, only shorter, a little more compact. He's got his winter coat open and Kurt can see a well-tailored - _very_ well-tailored - designer suit, with a black silk shirt and red tie. He has warm brown eyes, and short black hair that seems to want desperately to curl into ringlets, if only he'd grow it out a little.

And then he's looking at Kurt, and smiling in a warm, friendly way, and Kurt's positive he's blushing, which is just so unattractive on him. He notices the new man is shorter than his companion, just as the new man leans forward slightly to rap lightly on the table with his knuckles. He's still giving him that small, friendly smile, and says, "You take care of yourself, okay?"

He's staring directly into Kurt's eyes, and his voice is soft and concerned and... intimate, and Kurt's breath catches in his throat, and all he can do at first is nod, before finally answering with a breathy, "Yeah. I will."

The dark-haired man's smile grows into a cheerful grin before he turns back to his companion. Kurt watches as they start to walk off, shoulders brushing as they move- -

and then the first man turns his head over his shoulder, locks eyes with Kurt - and winks.

Almost a month later, when Kurt is fed up with everyone dismissing him and belittling him, bullying him and pushing him around, he visits a private school and spies on a rival glee club. And over coffee, he talks about bullying with another boy who understands, who really _gets it._ He can't help but notice Blaine's warm hazel-brown eyes, or the fact that despite all the product used to slick it down, his black hair looks like it might be curly.

And a little while after that, when he gets a text in the middle of glee practice saying just one word - _courage_ - Kurt smiles, and can't help thinking of another message he'd been given. _Don't give up. It will be so worth it._


	2. Change Your Life

_Notes: This is almost 4,000 words long. It wasn't supposed to be, but I just had to keep adding scenes, trying to find the ending. It doesn't have an "epilogue" like the last chapter, connecting it to an episode, although there is a sort of tie-in to "Silly Love Songs." Blink and you'll miss it._

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><p>When Blaine was five, he'd met Andy.<p>

It had all started that day in Kindergarten. Looking back years later, Blaine couldn't even remember what had happened during the half-day of school, but he could remember what happened afterwards with crystal clarity.

He'd hardly been able to keep the tears in check until he'd reached his mother's car, nose running and face splotchy from suppressed tears. His mother had taken one look at him, and declared that they needed cookies before they went home.

His mother didn't bake. That was what their hired cook was for. But she knew every bakery and pastry shop within a 20-mile radius, and they'd ended up at the _Lima Bean_.

Blaine hadn't wanted to go in, wanting instead to sit and sulk in the car, but even at that young age he'd known better than to speak against his mother, so he'd sullenly exited the car and taken her hand, huddling close to her legs as they entered the cafe. It was lunch time by then, so the place was fairly full, especially to a shy five-year-old's mind.

The line to the counter wasn't terribly long, but his mother had leaned down and said, "Blaine, why don't you go find a table for us to sit at, maybe by a window if you can?"

Blaine had turned large eyes toward her - she wanted him to go by _himself?_"But...there's people..." he'd tried to protest politely.

His mother had sighed, and he'd known he was walking on thin ice. She'd always understood that he was shy, but she kept gently prodding him to be more independent. "Just look for an empty table, sweetheart. You sit there and I'll bring our drinks and cookies as soon as I can, okay?"

Blaine had gulped, but after a moment he'd nodded, his eyes still wide with apprehension. He stayed close to the counter or walls, but eventually he did find a small table with two chairs that was empty in one corner. It was even somewhat close to a window, so Blaine had quickly climbed into the corner seat and stared out at the parking lot, watching the cars coming and going.

"Hey, Blaine."

Blaine jerked his gaze away from the window, and looked up at the man who was standing a little ways away from his table. He had a gentle smile, and kind eyes, but even if Blaine had recognized that, he knew that he wasn't allowed to talk to strangers when he was by himself, even if he wanted to, which he never did, anyway.

But...did it count if the stranger knew his name? Blaine narrowed his eyes at the man, who continued to stand there and smile at him, making no move to leave, but also not moving any closer. "How do you know my name?"

The man had laughed at that, and something in his laugh made Blaine relax marginally. "I've known you your whole life," the man had said fondly. Blaine got that a lot from adults who knew his parents, even if he didn't recognize him, so he just shrugged.

The man didn't say how big he was getting, or ask how old he was now, or wonder where his parents were, wanting a word with them, or any of the other things adults who had 'known him his whole life' usually said.

"You can call me Andy."

Blaine wasn't yet adept enough at the subtleties of the English language to find the wording of the man's introduction odd, he'd just given a small, shy smile and had asked hesitantly, "Like the boy in _'Toy Story'_?"

Andy had chuckled and nodded. "Exactly. Hey listen, I gotta get going," he held up his hands, a coffee cup in each one, to show he needed to deliver the drinks, "but I wanna tell you something."

Andy had knelt down in front of five-year-old Blaine, having to tilt his head a little to meet Blaine's gaze, and said seriously, "Those kids who teased you-they don't have any friends, either. Even though they were mean to you today, you should be nice and try to be their friend tomorrow. Everyone likes a nice, happy person."

Blaine and Andy had stared at each other for a long moment, before Andy had finally stood back up and smiled at him. "You take care of yourself, okay Blaine?"

Blaine had nodded solemnly in return, and with one last smile and a wiggle of his fingers around a coffee cup, Andy had turned and left.

Blaine's mother had eventually shown up with his hot chocolate and butterscotch chip cookies, apologizing for the long wait, and hoping he hadn't gotten too scared. Blaine had shook his head and said that he'd been talking to Andy.

Blaine would remember, years later, his mother questioning him about Andy, asking what had been said, what he'd looked like. Five-year-old Blaine, preoccupied with food and drink, hadn't noticed what older Blaine would pick up from the memory; his mother had been worried about some stranger coming up to her child in a crowded coffee shop and talking to him, where he could have been taken away.

She'd slowly relaxed, however, when Blaine repeated, verbatim, what had been said, and then described Andy as "short, with dark curly hair and gold eyes like daddy's." She would later make the mistake of calling him "Blaine's imaginary friend," to which Blaine threw a fit, because Andy had been _real._But eventually he'd let it go, and stopped talking about it.

He would take Andy's advice to heart, however, and at school he would be as nice and courteous to his classmates as he was to his parents' friends, and while it didn't always work (since children can be even crueler to those with manners than without), Blaine slowly evolved a persona of polite kindness and charisma that could win over almost anyone.

Blaine did actually see Andy occasionally over the years, but only at the _Lima Bean_, and only when he was alone, either waiting for one or both of his parents, or later when he went there on his own. Andy didn't usually say much, just smiled, looking genuinely pleased to see him, and would ask if he was alright.

There were some conversations, though, that stuck in Blaine's mind for years to come.

Blaine sat at a corner table in the _Lima Bean_, frequently going there after school now for coffee and biscotti, his newest comfort food. Unlike the _Starbucks_ in town, the _Lima Bean_catered to a slightly more sophisticated customer base, which meant even the kids his age Blaine did see there on occasion usually wore private school uniforms, and came in small group outtings. He kept to himself, and everyone left him alone, which was just what he wanted.

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><p>Now, Blaine was fiddling with the velcro straps of his wrist brace, not really hungry enough to eat the now-soggy biscotti he'd let soak in his drink. He'd been wearing the brace for just under a week, when he'd been shoulder-checked in the hallway at school and caught himself badly on his wrist. He'd actually managed to make it through the school day, although he didn't know how, because he honestly had no memory of anything after the incident. It was just a blur of the usual classrooms, covered in a haze of pain. It was his left wrist, otherwise he was sure he'd have gone to the nurse when he couldn't write to take notes. As it was, as soon as he'd gotten home and his mother had seen him favoring his wrist, she'd made him let her check it. It had swollen slightly under his baggy sweater sleeve, and as soon as she'd touched it he'd instinctively jerked away, which had only made a fresh stab of pain lance up his arm.<p>

One trip to the emergency room later, under his feeble protests, and he was the proud owner of a wrist brace, and advice from the attending doctor to keep from lifting or pushing anything with it. Basically, don't touch anything or put pressure on his left hand or wrist. And take the prescribed painkillers whenever he started to hurt. Not a problem. Blaine could be something of a baby about pain, which wasn't really helped by the fact that his mother had used to be (and still kept her license up-to-date, for when she got restless around the house) a hospice nurse. It seemed their collective philosophy was "Don't wait until there's pain to take something, take something so there's no pain." Which was great for dying people in irretractable pain, but he was a teenage boy who liked to be physical, which meant he got bangs and scratches pretty frequently.

Today had been another typical day at school. No one had body-checked him, but he'd gotten his clothes stolen in gym-again-and when someone had tossed them over his head in the hallway later, he'd shaken them out- to discover the word 'fag' written in black sharpie across the front of his shirt, with a crude stick figure drawing depicting anal sex. Despite being nothing but lines and circles, someone had taken the time to draw circles on the "receiver" figure's head, a clear representation of his curls. The real attention to detail was in the face, which was obviously enjoying the whole thing.

He'd have to burn the shirt, there was no saving it, and he couldn't let his parents see it. He could just throw it away, but just the knowledge that it was still out there, even if it was just slowly decomposing in a refuse yard, was too much for him. It needed to be incinerated, until there was no trace of it left.

He'd really liked that shirt, too. It was warm and soft, but loose enough to move freely in.

"Hey, Blaine."

Blaine glanced up, even as the speaker reached a hand out and knocked on the table a couple times with his knuckle in greeting. Andy stood there, his small smile of greeting slowly fading as his eyes focused on Blaine's wrist brace.

"Hey," Blaine greeted, self-consciously pulling his left arm back and tucking it on his lap under the table, trying to act casual about it. He knew it hadn't worked, and Andy continued to stare where it had been resting on the table for a long moment, before flicking his eyes up to stare at Blaine. Blaine, for his part, was suddenly interested in his biscotti again, picking at it with his fingers and nibbling on the crumbs that came off between them.

"What happened to your wrist?" The words were normal, but there was an undercurrent to Andy's tone that set Blaine's skin on edge, getting the irrational fear that he _knew_what had happened.

Blaine shrugged and gave a self-deprecating smile, the mask of normalcy slipping onto his face easily. "I took a corner at school too fast, misjudged the angle- slammed into the wall and fell wrong on my wrist." He watched, but Andy didn't wince in sympathy like everyone else he'd told the story to. He just continued to stare at Blaine, waiting for him to crack and tell the truth. Blaine chuckled a little, like he was embarrassed about it but the whole thing was too good a story not to share; embarrassment turned into pride. "Hairline fracture, the doctor said. Should be pretty much healed in a month or so."

Blaine was an accomplished liar. His ears still heated up sometimes when he was scared of getting caught, but he almost never got caught anymore. He followed a set of rules, a formula he'd come up with that always worked. Don't give too much detail - he'd heard that one of the most common mistakes of lying was going into too much detail, trying to distract from the ending lie. He kept his posture casual, acting like he was just stating facts. _This is what happened. There's nothing more._ He made eye-contact, but didn't stare at the other person like he was willing them to believe him. His entire demeanor said _Believe me or don't, but it's the truth._ 'Don't act ashamed of what you're saying' was another rule, because no one should be ashamed to tell the truth. Embarrassed, sure, especially if it was a story like this, but there was nothing to be ashamed of. 'Keep it plausible and close to the actual truth.' He _had_fallen, and Blaine was known to be a little awkward at times, having just gone through a growth spurt that had unfortunately added more breadth and width to his shoulders than height to him, so accidentally slamming his shoulder into a wall wasn't even that unlikely. He'd done it at home walking through doorways a couple of times, even.

Even with all that, though, Andy seemed to see right through him. Blaine felt a surge of anger; what did Andy know, anyway? He was confident and attractive, and probably like a star football player in school or something. What did he know about bullying, or being so much smaller than the jocks, or being ashamed of his own body and his likes and interests? He stared at Andy, his anger turning into defiance as he lifted his chin slightly. Daring him to call him out on his lie.

Andy sighed and, setting down his coffee cup, pulled out the empty chair across from Blaine and settling in. Blaine noticed he had no problem sitting with his back facing the rest of the room, and another surge of _[envy]_ annoyance hit him. _He_couldn't stand to have his back to a room, his neck would prickle and his skin would crawl, he always felt exposed and like every eye was staring at him, people looming unseen behind him.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," Andy said quietly, completely ignoring Blaine's story, as if he hadn't spoken at all. He turned in his chair a little, bracing an arm on the back and glancing around the cafe. After a few seconds, he lifted the hand slung over the chair back, and subtly pointed to a group of three boys in blazers, sitting several tables away. "Dalton Academy. Pretty nice school. A little buttoned-up, they take themselves pretty seriously, but... they're good guys. They've got an a cappella show choir, the Warblers. You like to sing, right?"

Blaine shrugged, still a little miffed that Andy had completely written off _[seen through]_his lie. Andy didn't know that he collected lyrics and sheet music like some people collected baseball cards. He didn't know that Blaine followed Broadway stars like the average girl follows celebrity gossip. In fact, Andy didn't really know anything about him, nothing really personal. He'd always been a private person, only opening up to a select few people he was close to. Even though he'd known Andy since he was around five, they were only friendly acquaintances, nothing more. Actually...

"I don't know you." There was a wondering note to Blaine's words, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. Which he couldn't. He thought back over the years, all the times he'd seen Andy, back all the way to when they'd first met... when Andy had introduced himself as a friend of his parents. No... _"I've known you your whole life."_ He'd never said he knew Blaine's parents, little Blaine had just assumed it. He'd never shown up at their house, never phoned... the only time Blaine ever saw him was at the _Lima Bean_, and always when his parents were occupied with something else.

After a second's hesitation, Andy gave that same kind smile he always bestowed on Blaine. It always made Blaine feel like a child again, not necessarily in a bad way, but it was the same look his mother gave him sometimes when she smoothed down his curls and called him 'baby'. "Sure you do." His smile slid off his face, leaving him looking intently at Blaine, eyes filled with...sadness? "And I know you, Blaine. You're not going to complain until it gets to be too much. You won't say anything until you're about to snap... and there's nothing I can do to change your mind." It wasn't an argument, he was just stating facts, but he sounded so discouraged about it. "All I can do is tell you this: Dalton has an enforced zero-tolerance no-bullying policy. It's a strict school, but... I think you'd like it."

Blaine watched in silence as Andy smiled again slightly, rapping his knuckles on the table in that unique way of his for adding emphasis to something as he stood up. Blaine had caught himself doing the same thing sometimes, and it always struck him as strange to be imitating Andy, but it also felt natural.

"Don't forget what I said, about Dalton," Andy said, before picking up his coffee and giving a small wave goodbye.

And that was it. Hardly an earthshattering conversation, barely ten minutes had passed... but to Blaine, it felt much more profound. He didn't even know who Andy was, just some random stranger who had befriended a small child and then kept casual tabs on him over the years, always seeming to show up when Blaine needed _someone_to talk to, even if what he actually ended up saying was insignificant.

But...Dalton. It sounded nice. There was no way his parents would transfer him, though. Not for a little bullying that he should be able to handle himself. He _did_ handle it himself, never letting his parents know what people called him, why he seemed to keep buying clothes but his closet never needed to be cleaned out. Why he'd never joined the football team, even though he loved to play. That had been the one time he'd stood up against his parents, actually, when his dad had said he should try out for junior varsity. It had been a suggestion, not an order, which was about the only way Blaine had managed to get the courage to say no, he wouldn't, he didn't want to. His father had looked like he'd wanted to argue, probably saying, _"But you love football, it's a great [manly] sport. You should have an extracurricular, and football would look good on your college applications-it's never too soon to start planning for college, you know."_But more than that, his father had just looked confused and surprised, and in the end had just shrugged a little stiffly and said, "Suit yourself."

Blaine didn't bring Dalton up to his parents... until he'd had to drive his car home and park it in the driveway, the word "**FAGGOT**" carved in thick, deep grooves across the hood, and "**QUEER**" similarly carved on the trunk. He got transferred, and his dad bought an old fix-me-up Chevy to work on that summer.

Blaine still went to the _Lima Bean_, but he wore his Dalton uniform, and a lot of the time it was in the company of some other schoolmates. He saw Andy, but there was never really a moment to talk to him. Andy would nod or wave at him when he caught sight of him, though, or salute him with his coffee cup with a smile.

That didn't mean Blaine didn't learn a few things about Andy, though, just through observation. One encounter would always stick in his mind, for more than one reason. He'd always assumed Andy was straight, for several reasons, the main one being the wide gold wedding band he wore. Also, under the assumption-that he now knew to be erroneous-that Andy knew his parents, it was highly unlikely he was gay. His parents were tolerant of Blaine, and they were more tolerant of other gays _now_, but when he was a child and had thought Andy was their friend, it was unlikely they would have associated with him if he were out.

But one day, Valentine's Day, actually, he'd seen Andy, a woman with headphones separating them in line, standing with a brunette man a few inches taller than him. Blaine had never really had an opinion one way or the other about the holiday, besides enjoying the candy, but he didn't begrudge his classmates their time spent with their girlfriends that day. It meant that at the moment he was alone, though, and able to observe them uninterrupted.

Andy was teasing his companion, who had a rather haughty, disdainful look on his face. _Stuck up,_Blaine couldn't help thinking. Then he felt bad, because he knew several Dalton boys who got the same look on their faces when they were out in public. It was as much a defense mechanism for them as charm was for him.

"You love it, admit it," Andy was saying, leaning into his friend's personal space and up, so their faces were only inches apart. The brunette sniffed and turned his nose up a little, but Blaine could see him glance at Andy through slitted eyelids, not quite able to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up as he responded, "I admit nothing."

And then, Andy had started singing. Softly, Blaine didn't think it carried very far, but it carried _enough_, enough so he could hear the crooning words "Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs..."

"You're horrible," the other man said, trying to ignore him. Andy had just grinned and started another song, which Blaine didn't recognize, but the meaning of the words were as single-entendre as possible. "When I get you alone, babe..."

"Not. Funny. I have horrible associations with that song, you know. Flash mobs- I can't set foot in a Gap store, now."

"Like you ever set foot in a Gap besides that one time."

"Regardless. You serenaded some boy with horrible hair, and broke my heart. You're a horrible person."

Andy had rocked to the side to bump shoulders with the brunette. "No, I was just a clueless teenager, who couldn't see the best was right there waiting for me. I have great associations with that song, 'cause you told me how you felt about me after I sang it. If it weren't for that, I might have been an idiot forever...and never known what I was missing..." His voice had gone quiet, and Blaine felt a little bad for eavesdropping... but not enough to stop. It was a public place, they couldn't really expect to have a private conversation.

And then the brunette had reached over and laced his fingers with Andy's, squeezing his hand. Blaine had watched, breathless, as the two men had looked at each other and _smiled,_ and _that must be what love looks like,_ Blaine had thought. It was beautiful, and heartwrenching, and for the first time, Blaine had felt impatient to find someone to look at _him_ like that, someone he could hold hands with and share private jokes and memories with. He'd always gone with the idea that 'The best things come to those who wait', but for a moment he just wanted it _now._

And then it had been their turn to order, and after Andy had ordered for both of them, the brunette man, his companion- no, his _partner_, had smiled and leaned toward him, saying, "You know my coffee order," like it had some sort of significance.

Andy's grin in return was blinding. "Of course, dummy." They'd leaned close to each other then, grinning and looking thoroughly, sappily in love, and for one moment, Blaine was sure they were going to kiss. Instead they just touched foreheads for a moment.

He loved Valentine's Day after that, always thinking that someday, someyear, he'd have someone to act like that with.


End file.
